by Kathy Shuker
She cut herself a slice of cake and didn’t respond. She watched him cut into the cake with his fork, brutally, like he was exacting revenge on all womankind by taking it out on the innocent sponge. She looked away.
‘I see Neil has come back,’ he said suddenly. ‘How do you feel about it, now he’s actually here?’
She looked up, surprised. ‘I’m not sure yet.’
He finished his cake; she offered him more but he refused.
‘You were together a long time, weren’t you?’ he said, playing with his wine glass. ‘I guess you had your ups and downs. Has there ever been anyone else for you?’
She paused, the last forkful of cake half way to her mouth.
‘No.’
‘You were never tempted to stray?’
She finished eating and pushed the plate away. ‘Only when he went off with his new girlfriend. For spite.’ She shrugged. ‘To show him – though I don’t suppose he’d have cared.’
He nodded. ‘See, that’s what I thought about Zoe – maybe she’s trying to teach me a lesson.’
‘Maybe. Or…’ she suggested warily, ‘…maybe you’re just trying to persuade yourself?’
‘Do you still love him?’ he demanded.
‘What is this, Adam? Some sort of bizarre counselling session? I suppose sometimes I do. Sometimes I think I love him as much as I did twenty years ago…maybe more. Sometimes I hate him. What’s this got to do with anything?’
‘Why? Why do you hate him?’
Claire picked up her wine glass. ‘Because…’ She raised her free hand in a gesture of frustration. ‘…because he wouldn’t talk about Gilly. He cut off from me when I needed him most, said he needed space. I felt like I was in a…a whirlpool spinning round and round all by myself. Then he blamed me for obsessing and driving us apart.’
Adam nodded slowly. ‘Men don’t talk though. Surely you know that? Scares us to death.’
She flicked him a look, unsure if he was being flippant though his expression was serious enough, intense even.
‘I didn’t want him to make speeches Adam; I just wanted him to meet me half way.’
He grunted. ‘Half way,’ he repeated mechanically. ‘But every time I try to talk to Zoe I…’ He shook his head and drank some wine.
Claire waited but he’d abandoned the thought and was staring moodily into the distance. She got up and cleared the plates off the table and a minute later he appeared to shake off his gloom and helped. Then they took the remaining wine through to the sitting room and sat by the wood-burning stove. Claire poked at it to make it flame up.
‘Right,’ said Adam, purposefully, ‘you wanted to talk something through. Fire away. I’m all ears.’
‘OK. ’ She took a long breath and let it out slowly. ‘First, I need to show you something.’ She walked across to the sideboard and took the velvet pouch out of the drawer. Standing by his chair, she turned the slide out onto her hand and held it down for him to see. ‘I found this. It was the slide Gilly was wearing on the day she disappeared.’
He looked up at her, incredulous. ‘You’re joking.’
‘I would never joke about this, Adam. Here, have a look. Take it.’
He took it gingerly, studied it, turned it over, then looked back at Claire who had sat down again.
‘Where did you find this?’
‘In a box of bric-a-brac left over from the village fête. The box was given to Penny to sell.’
‘At the fête? That’s odd. How do you know it’s Gilly’s?’ He studied it again. ‘Is it special in some way?’
‘No-o, not exactly. It’s a cheap mass-produced thing but they make a couple of different colours and this one’s exactly like the one Gilly wore. And how many little girls are there in Bohenna who’d have a slide like this?’ She glared at him defensively. ‘And I’ve looked online and they don’t seem to make them any more. Plus it’s got a scratch on the back. Gilly dropped it once and it fell down between the car and the kerb. I think that’s when it got scratched.’
He nodded slowly. ‘You don’t sound certain.’
‘I am. I’ve thought about it a lot. Anyway I know it’s Gilly’s.’
‘Have you told the police?’
‘Yes, but they didn’t want to know. They said it wasn’t proof. They’ve packed the case up and moved on.’
‘They said that?’
‘Not in so many words. But it’s what’s happened.’
‘Maybe they just need some good evidence to justify using their meagre resources.’
‘You think I’m making it up?’
‘I didn’t say that. It’s just that finding it at the fête doesn’t make any sense.’
‘Nothing makes any sense,’ Claire said heavily, and drank more wine. ‘But it proves that Gilly was never taken out of the village.’ She looked up. ‘Don’t you see, Adam, she might be being held somewhere. In a garage or a shed or a cellar. Maybe somewhere quite close.’
‘Ye-es. I suppose she could,’ he said doubtfully, examining the slide again. ‘But how would it get to the fête then? Is this what you gave Jane to read?’
‘Yes, but I didn’t tell her where I found it.’
Adam reached for his wine and drank, saying nothing.
‘I’ve been trying to track down who gave it to the fête,’ Claire continued. ‘But it hasn’t been that easy. A lot of the stuff was given anonymously, left in big plastic boxes in the pub garages. Dave mentioned someone he’d seen donating but it didn’t get me very far.’ She told him about the donation by Nick Lawer’s girlfriend, about the confrontation by the black sheds in his garden and the subsequent conversation with the police. ‘Of the other donations that anyone remembers, some were from newcomers to the village - and our old neighbours, the Fosters, gave some things too.’
‘Is that George Foster? Big chap, neat moustache, bit red in the face?’
‘Yes. Do you know him?’
‘I’ve seen him in the pub.’
‘He and Beattie used to spoil both the girls with treats. Anyway, I went to see Beattie the other day to ask if she’d seen anyone else at the garages, or if she’d seen Gilly that afternoon and she behaved rather oddly.’
‘Ah.’ Adam nodded wisely. ‘That accounts for the looks I’ve been getting and the way conversations change when I get near the bar. We’ve been seen together so no-one’s prepared to talk in front of me. Perhaps your questions made George nervous. What did Beattie say?’
‘She was edgy. Apparently it was George who put the donations in the garage, not her, but she refused to ask him if he’d seen anyone else there. She looked scared.’
Adam drained the last of his wine and went back to the kitchen, returning with the bottle he’d brought. He refilled both glasses and sat down heavily.
‘Where was George when Gilly disappeared?’ he asked.
‘He’s retired now but he used to be a delivery driver for a bakery just outside Penmarna.’
‘So he might have been around then.’
‘After what you said, I’ve been trying to think of people we’ve known who Gilly would have met, adults she might have trusted.’ She told him about the Poldreens and the grudge Richard might have harboured. ‘They’re living in Lostwithiel now. Beattie told me. She knows everyone.’
Adam’s face puckered into a frown. ‘See, that’s what I don’t get: there are so many people in this village who know everything that goes on. And yet, no-one saw Gilly being taken; no-one seems to know anything at all.’
‘I know.’ She hesitated, glancing up at him through coy lashes. ‘I’ve been thinking about Jane too.’ She waited but he didn’t comment. ‘I know you like her but I’m wondering if there might be something in that old row we had after all. She behaves strangely around me.’
‘I didn’t say I liked her. I just said I didn’t see her as the type.’
‘What is the type then?’
He shrugged, sniffed, took another swig of wine. ‘And did you think about the family t
oo?’
For family, she heard Neil. ‘Everyone in the family was questioned, Adam. There were no secrets. It was like living in a goldfish bowl - they were all over everything. In any case,’ she added coldly, ‘there’s no-one in the family who’s the type either.’
He met her stony gaze but didn’t respond and picked up the bottle from the hearth, offering Claire more and, when she refused, refilling his own glass. Then he was back in his chair, hugging the glass, staring into the fire as if he hoped he would see some answer there.
He jerked his head round suddenly. ‘Who have you told about the slide?’
‘Only you…and Jane. But she doesn't know Gilly was wearing it when she disappeared. And Neil wouldn’t believe me anyway.’
‘Don’t tell anyone else. People are talking enough already. We need to be very careful.’
‘We? So you do believe me then about the slide? Are you going to help?’
‘I’ll try. But we need to be organised. We need a plan.’
They continued to talk it through for another half hour while the contents of the second bottle of wine slowly dwindled. Claire was increasingly convinced that Jane needed to be investigated and she wanted to check out her house.
‘No, I should do it,’ Adam insisted. ‘Remember what happened with Nick Lawer. And I'll see if I can find out more about George Foster too. We can’t risk him knowing you’re still asking questions about him.’
‘But I’ve got to do something.’
‘You check out Richard Poldreen. Then we’ll get together afterwards and compare notes.’
Slowly, reluctantly, he got up to leave.
‘Thank you,’ Claire said to him at the door. ‘It’s a relief that someone finally believes me.’
A slow, self-satisfied smile spread across his face and he lurched forward, planting a bruising kiss on her cheek. ‘You’re welcome,’ he slurred, as she pushed him gently away. He leaned back heavily against the door frame.
‘It’s time to go home, Adam,’ she said.
‘I know: you want me to leave.’ The smile faded and he frowned extravagantly. ‘You know you’re still very attractive, Claire. You mustn’t give up on men because of Neil. The man’s a fool.’
‘’Night Adam.’
‘Oh OK.’ He eased himself upright again. ‘Thanks for the meal. It was a good evening.’
‘Adam?’
‘What?’
‘If you’re drinking to try and forget Zoe, it doesn’t work. Trust me. I’ve tried it.’
He raised a hand in mock salute and affected to march down the path, pitching a little side to side. She smiled; he was an engaging man. But he talked of being discreet and there was nothing subtle about Adam when he’d had too much to drink.
She closed the door and leaned against it. He was right about being careful though. She had been foolish to speak to Beattie like that. She couldn't afford to let her heart rule her head and risk anything happening to Gilly because of her big mouth.
Chapter 13
Julia sat in the office, brow furrowed, a sheaf of papers on the desk in front of her, cross-referencing a form she was filling in with a set of printed notes from the computer on one side and her own scribblings in a notebook on the other. This form-filling was the least favourite part of her job, making sure they fulfilled all their legal requirements, checking no further directives had come from government on how, when and if they produced their wine. There were so many rules, so many hoops to jump through, she always felt they had to run to keep up. Sometimes she wished she could get the faceless bureaucratic officials to actually spend a few weeks working in the vineyard with them so they would understand how it really was, here on the ground, battling the weather and the pests and the lack of enough labour and the market and that indefinable thing: fashion in wine. And then there were the costs and the constant balancing of the investment in the latest technology or equipment against their possible benefits.
What she couldn’t complain to the faceless officials about, however, was her family, her siblings whose desire to work together and make the business a success could never quite dampen their rivalry or stop their squabbles - or her mother who still thought she knew best even though it had been her husband who had been the galvanising force behind the business before his death, and even though she had no real input to the vineyard work any longer. Still Eve insisted on checking everything, forcing every issue to be repeatedly discussed and argued. Was that her increasing age and insecurity or because she didn’t trust her daughter and son-in-law? If Julia hadn’t already known the answer to that question, she thought her mother’s invitation to Neil had proved it was the latter.
As if reading her thoughts, there was a knock on the door and Neil stuck his head round.
‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Got a moment?’
‘Sure.’ She put the pen down and leaned back in the chair, watching him as he pulled another chair over and sat down a pace away.
‘The winery looks good,’ he said.
‘Thanks.’
‘The new bottling machine will make a difference.’
‘I hope so.’
‘Sure to.’ He licked his lips thoughtfully, glanced at her face but wouldn’t hold her gaze. ‘I had a good wander round the vines too.’
‘Phil said.’
He nodded. ‘Well, I had to reacquaint myself with the place. It’s been a while.’ He hesitated. ‘I see we’re still growing a lot of Pinot Noir. It’s a fussy grape though, isn’t it? Temperamental. I’m not saying get rid of it completely but maybe try…’
‘It can also produce the most amazing wines when you get it right. Remember? You were here when we made some of them. And dad swore by it.’
‘Yes. But he also used to say: learn and adapt. I was going to say there are new varieties being developed all the time, especially for the northern US states and for Canada and Germany. Have you thought of growing Orion?’
‘Why change a winning formula?’ she said crisply. ‘It would be a gamble. Anyway, we’d need more land for the transition.’ She leaned forward again and picked up her pen. ‘Look I’ve got to fill this in and send it off.’
‘We’ve got to look forward, Julia, not back.’
The tension in Julia, simmering for days, finally blew.
‘So you think we live in the past, do you? Not good enough for your standards, Neil? You may have noticed that the vineyard hasn’t come grinding to a halt since you decided to leave. Frankly, I think you’ve got a nerve to come waltzing in here, telling me how we should be doing things when not so very long ago you couldn’t wait to get away and leave us to sink or swim. In fact I’m surprised, if we’re so backward, that you deigned to come back at all.’
He said nothing but now made eye contact.
‘I did have good reasons for leaving, remember? We needed that fresh start. But it didn’t work out. And now it feels like a safe time to come back.’
‘Safe?’
He looked wrong-footed. ‘Safe from feeling quite as much pain. Safe now from all the journos and sick attention.’
‘I see.’ She leaned back in the chair, her anger fading as rapidly as it had risen. ‘Has Tim talked to you about you taking on the marketing again?’
‘Yes, he did mention it.’
‘You know he hates all that, even though he’s done pretty well with it all in all.’
‘You’re trying to get me on the road again and out of your hair,’ he said easily.
‘I think we’ll be most successful if we all play to our strengths - and you’re very good at selling. You know you are. All that side of it: the conferences and seminars and ceremonies, the pitching to supermarkets and wine merchants. Tim can get on with the day to day stuff here: the wine tours, the restaurant, the Craft Yard. He’s thinking about opening a gift shop.’
‘Yes, he said.’ He hesitated. ‘Have you seen much of Claire?’
‘No. Not since Christmas. Once or twice in the village maybe. I don’t get over to the C
raft Yard much.’
‘Phil tells me she’s seeing someone.’
‘Did he? Well, she’s bound to make new friends, isn’t she?’
‘Is she…’ He didn’t finish the thought, hesitated, and got to his feet. ‘I think we all need to sit down sometime and discuss our roles and where we think the vineyard is going.’
‘Why? What’s changed, Neil, because you’ve chosen to come back? We were doing fine before.’
‘I’m not here to challenge you, Julia. I’m here to get involved, to help. And you know it’s hard for me too, coming back like this? I want to contribute. Help ease me in, will you? We all need to work together if we want the vineyard to be as successful as it can be.’
She didn’t reply and he walked out. For a moment she stared vaguely towards the window, seeing nothing. It was all starting to happen the way she’d known it would. As soon as Claire came back, it had been inevitable that Neil would return too. What on earth had prompted Phil to tell Neil about her seeing Adam? It was just poking at a wasps’ nest.
And Neil back at the vineyard? Julia loved her brother but he was a driven man. It was like putting an over-zealous collie in a field of sheep - he always had to try to herd them all together in the direction he wanted to go.
She sighed and bent over her papers again.
*
Jane’s house stood at the end of a short run of dwellings built along one side of the road and was separated from its nearest neighbour - a small semi - by a rickety, ivy-covered wooden fence. Adam had already driven past it once. Now he turned the car and returned the other way, pulling in to park beside the neighbouring property. A To Let sign languished at an angle against the overgrown hedge and a newspaper stuck out of the letterbox. The house appeared to have been empty for some time. That was lucky.
Jane was working. He had made sure of that before leaving. It was not yet two o’clock and a quick glance in at the window of her unit suggested that she was involved in a consultation; he expected to be safe for some time. He got out of the car and, affecting interest in the rental property, wandered nonchalantly into the garden, glancing towards its attached neighbour. There didn’t seem to be anyone around. He abandoned the semi and went next door.